


Bee Welcome

by canmetal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels Are Known, Bed & Breakfast, Castiel and Dean Winchester Get Married, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canmetal/pseuds/canmetal
Summary: Angels were creatures of the Lord’s will. They were terrifying warriors of singular purpose. Cosmic beings, unyielding in their duty.Dean had heard the stories. Hunters unlucky enough to have met them. Angels fought for the glory of Heaven. Banished demons to the pits of Hell.They did not show compassion. They did not show mercy.They certainly didn’t run a cozy bed & breakfast in Maine.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cw/ Implied panic attack, brief sexual content, canon typical violence. 
> 
> No beta.

Dad was dead and Sam had the audacity to walk away. You don’t walk away from this life. Dean had gotten piss drunk. Told Sam he was gonna find the demon that killed Dad and finish what their father had started. 

Dean needed a portal to Hell. Only a few ways to do that. The easiest one was to get an angel to do it. That’s why angels were on Earth at all. Open up Hell and throw the demons back in. 

But you just don’t find an angel. They find you. 

So Dean had leaned on every sorry-ass monster and small-time demon he could find. Tell _them_ , I wanna talk. 

Dean spent nearly a year chasing their shadow. Hoping for a miracle.

One night, Dean discovered the angels were watching over him. They appear in his dreams. Thousands. Millions. A mass of wings, flames, and eyes. 

“I have a proposition,” Dean had said. 

“We do not concern ourselves with the affairs of humans, Dean Winchester, but We know what you want,” The chorus had sung.

“You didn’t come here for nothing,” Dean answered. 

“Our brother has fallen. Take care of it and you will have what you want.” 

Dean scoffed, “Can’t clean up your own messes?”

But the angels were gone. Dean awoke with a new purpose. 

Dean prepares. Killing an angel requires a weapon touched by the Divine. An angel blade. He’s one short. No matter. He’ll entrap the bastard in holy flames and figure out the rest from there.

The angels were sparse on details. All he has is an image, burned into his mind as a parting gift. 

The Wing and a Prayer Bed and Breakfast. 

Dean looks it up on Yelp. 

Place is got good reviews. Apparently the innkeep is very friendly. The floral wallpaper in the rooms is a bit tacky. 

Dean packs his supplies. Leaves a voicemail with Sam. Throws the burner into the river. 

He drives all night. He doesn’t know where the feathery asshole is but Dean figures the innkeep might. He’ll talk. Everyone talks for something. 

Dean stakes out the place for a few days. He puts up at some shitty motel down the road. He almost regrets not booking a room at the B&B. The beds look comfy. 

Still nothing. He’s after a fallen angel. Those disgraced by Heaven for their disobedience. The books had said Dean would _know_ when he saw it _._ A flickering candle, about to burn out. These were beings that didn’t belong. 

There was nothing like that here. The place seems full of life. The hum of travelers during the day. Peaceful at night. Maybe that’s why this abomination had chosen to hide away here. 

The problems start when Dean gets sloppy. He’s inpatient. Reckless. Traits his father tried to fix for years. 

It’s evening. 9:00 pm. Check-in is until 10:00 pm on weekends. Dean watches the innkeep through the window of his quarters. It’s a stand-alone off from the house. Two stories. The office is upstairs. The innkeep’s reading. 

Dean gets an idea. If he can just get the information he needs, he might be able to track down the angel during the night. These things are supposed to live in the shadows. 

So Dean does something dumb. He gets out of the car, stalks up the outside staircase, and kicks in the front door. The sign on the door that reads, “Bee! Welcome to Wing and a Prayer B&B” rattles loudly in the small office. He’s on the innkeep in a second. Dean grabs the guy by the scruff, hauls him up, and shoves him against the wall. He opens his mouth to demand some answers when suddenly the world turns.

He’s on the ground. On his back. There’s six great wings around him.

The inkeep is sitting on him. 

Dean flails around. Tries to get some leverage but two wings pin his arms. He struggles. He can’t get up. 

“Dean, please stop.” 

Dean can feel himself panic. 

Suddenly the pressure on his chest is gone. The angel is standing over him. He grabs Dean's arms with his wings and hauls him to his feet. Dean’s head spins. The angel is telling him to breathe. 

The world stops spinning. Dean finally focuses on the innkeep. The fallen angel. The world seems to burn brilliantly at the edges of his wings. 

“Who in the hell are you?”

* * *

Castiel 

That’s what the angel – seraph, tells him. Dean’s sitting in the office, the cup of tea Castiel made him left untouched. 

“Why don’t you kill me,” Dean asks, coldly. 

“Why would I do such a thing? You’re not a threat,” Castiel says. 

Dean’s blood boils. He wants to reach across the table and punch this cocky son of a bitch.

“Dean, you're a very capable hunter but you’re unbalanced right now.” 

“So what, you don’t have the nuts to finish off some poor little lost soul.” 

Castiel isn’t moved by Dean’s anger. “You’re desperate and Heaven took advantage of that. Your plan would not have worked. Heaven simply sought you out to clean up loose ends.”

Dean’s fists tighten.

Castiel tucks his wings back into whatever ethereal plane they usually reside in. “Dean, you’re not a prisoner. You’re free to go. Angels aren’t demons. Your soul will be safe even if I remain alive.”

Dean glares, “I came here to get what I want.” 

“And what is that Dean? To seek vengeance for your father? Your father’s business with that demon is his own. To involve yourself will only cause unending torment,” Castiel says. 

“Don't you dare talk about him, you don’t have the right,” Dean spits in anger. This creature talks as if he knows things. Like he knows Dad. Like he knows Dean. 

That Castiel is right fills Dean with rage. 

Castiel stands and walks over to a pegboard, grabbing a key off it. He hands it to Dean. “You’re welcome to stay here until you do find what you want.”

Dean stays. What else is there to do. 

* * *

Dad always said Dean had terrible manners. Another thing Dad could never fix.

So it shouldn’t surprise anyone that Dean is a horrible guest. He pokes at Castiel. Surely the angel will snap. Give Dean an opening.

“So why the hell did you fall?” Dean asks without preamble, over breakfast. 

Castiel doesn't look offended. “I didn’t fall Dean. I left.”

“Is that what they call it these days,” Dean replies. 

“Only one angel has ever fallen. Some have left Heaven over the millennia.” Castiel says, taking a sip of coffee.

Dean rolls his eyes, “Fine. Why did you leave?”

“You’ve met angels Dean. Is it truly so surprising that some of us would want to leave.” 

Castiel might have a point. 

Castiel continues, “If you were to ask my brothers and sisters, they’d say I had a crack in my chassis. I was different from the start. I’ve spent many years on Earth. I like it down here. Eventually, I stayed for good.” 

Dean hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know what he expected but “I like chumming it up on Earth” wasn’t it. 

“So why do they want you dead?” Dean asks. Maybe Castiel broke some angel law. 

Castiel lets out a sigh, “Most angels cannot comprehend me. My desire to remain on Earth. To fall. They wish to be rid of such deviations. Yet, they cannot stand to be around me. So they find others to do the work.” 

Dean almost spits out his coffee, “You just said you didn’t fall.” 

Castiel looks at Dean, a somewhat pitying expression in his eyes. “The distinction is difficult to express in any human language. It is enough to say I did not fall. I am falling.”

“Why are you fuckers like this?” Dean cries, feeling the urge to bang his head on the table. 

“Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for his disobedience. No matter what my siblings think, leaving Heaven of one’s own free will does not betray the Divine will. Yet, when I left Heaven I cut myself off from creation. The only connection I have left is my grace. It is fading. I am falling,” Castiel explains. As if that clears up any confusion. 

“So what, are you losing your angel mojo?” Dean asks, tired of cosmic bullshit. 

“If by mojo,” Castiel says, using air quotes, “you mean my grace. Then yes. It fades with each day. Slowly, yet steadily. Drip by drip.” 

Dean thinks. What is an angel without the light of creation? An empty vessel. Some sacred dust, left to wonder. 

Castiel must pick up on Dean’s thoughts. “All living things have a spark, Dean. Something given to them by the Divine. I am no different. I will be human one day. I will have a soul.” 

Dean gives up, it’s too early for this, “Why the bed and breakfast then?” 

Castiel shrugs, “Why not.” 

* * *

Castiel still has a B&B to run so Dean tries to busy himself. He’s bored within two hours so he wanders around. Wing and a Prayer B&B, 4.8 rating on Yelp, is located in an old turn of the century mansion. It’s painted a royal blue. Almost a jewel tone. The main house has five bedrooms for rent, with a living room, kitchen, formal dining room, and library available for guests. 

There’s Castiel’s quarters, built in the old barn next to the house. The upstairs is an office, the downstairs his living space. Two additional lodgings sit off to the side of the house. Perhaps they were once for the servants. They’ve been renovated as stand-alone cabins for rent. 

Castiel puts Dean up in one of those. Why he’d give Dean a room, when actual paying guests could have it, is beyond Dean. He gets the impression he shouldn’t question the motives of former wavelengths of celestial intent. 

Dean finds a book in the library and reads in the little herb garden off the kitchen. He cannot sit still. His skin itches. His whole body feels heavy. Dean’s starting to nod off when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, inches from Dean’s face. Apparently angels don’t understand personal space. “I brought you some lunch.” 

Dean looks down. There’s a plate with a sandwich and salad in Castiel’s hand. 

Dean takes it without argument. He is hungry.

“You got something to do around here?” Dean mutters, between mouthfuls of his sandwich. 

Castiel tilts his head, “Most of my guests come here to relax Dean.” 

“Well, I ain’t exactly relaxed. Come on Cas, surely there’s a leaky pipe or broken gutter.”

Castiel looks back at the house, “I hardly think it’s appropriate to make a guest work. However, if you insist, I do have a list of required repairs and upkeep.” 

The list is pretty standard. Regular chores. Some maintenance here and there. Projects that need doing but somehow there’s never the time. 

So Dean starts. He’s always liked hunting because he gets to help people. Protect them from monsters. Chopping firewood for a B&B certainly isn’t going to save the world but it will at least heat the house. 

* * *

A week goes by before Sam shows up. Looks like he did get that voicemail. 

Dean is standing with Castiel in the kitchen. Castiel is explaining the difficult decision on whether he should re-wallpaper or not. This is a grave matter. At least according to Castiel.

Sam bursts in, shotgun at the ready.

“Sammy, what the hell?” Dean yells, “You're gonna scare one of the guests with that thing out. Put it away.”

Sam looks between Dean and Castiel. His eyes darting back and forth. 

“Dean, I get some message that you’re on some hopeless quest for vengeance and are going to kill an angel _._ What are you doing _here_?” Sam says, gesturing around the quaint kitchen. “I thought I had to come rescue you from your own stupidity.” 

Part of Dean is surprised Sammy decided to show at all. They had departed on bitter words. He’s glad Sam came for him. On the other hand, he just burst into Castiel’s house with a shotgun. Maybe he should review hunting basics with Sam. Shotguns aren’t useful against angels. 

Castiel doesn’t seem upset though. He smiles softly at Sam and offers him lunch. Over homemade falafel, Castiel explains what happened. Sam stares at Dean the entire time. After lunch, Castiel takes their plates, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

‘Dude,” Sam says, quietly so Castiel can’t hear. Seraphs have great hearing, he probably can. “A week ago you were on a warpath. Now, you’re playing house with that thing.”

Dean stiffens, “That thing, Sam, has a name. I raised you better than that.”

Sam glares at Dean but deflates after a moment. “Dean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses suddenly. But you’ve been on this case for a year. It’s all you cared about. What changed?” 

Dean doesn’t have an answer. 

Castiel returns with dessert. It’s apple pie. Dean’s favorite. 

Sam stays with Dean a few days. He still seems suspicious of Castiel and whatever Dean is doing. But the kid’s got a life. Eventually, he packs his car to return to California.

“Call me, Dean. Promise me that,” Sam tells him as he hugs Dean good-bye.

“I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

And so it goes. Winter changes to spring. Spring changes to summer. Dean spends some days reading. Some days working. Castiel seems to delight in teaching Dean about the house, the gardens, the changing rhythm of life there. He even insists that Dean work desk duty. Dean swears he’s awful with people but Castiel thinks customer service is an appropriate job for Dean.

Dean also teaches Castiel some things. How to work on cars. Castiel’s got some god-awful pimpmobile that he doesn’t maintain. Dean’s pretty handy around a kitchen. Castiel is a decent baker but Dean works with him on some of his techniques. Dean also discovers Castiel has zero taste in movies or music. They often spend evenings watching the classics or listening to the mix-tapes Dean makes.

Castiel offered to pay him. Dean has steadfastly refused. Castiel already does enough. Dean’s not gonna take his money. He hustles pool when he needs spending cash. Castiel frowns at him when he gets home.

They’re eating dinner in Castiel’s kitchen. It’s a small space, no dining table. Just a counter with stools to sit at. It’s more than enough for the two of them though. Dean really only goes to his cabin to sleep.

Cas made roast lamb tonight. He’s been trying out recipes to offer his guests. Dean doesn’t mind being a guinea pig.

“Cas, I need to say something,” Dean begins. He’s been working up the nerve for a week.

“Yes?” Cas answers, mouth full of potato.

“Look, I’m not great with feelings. Or talking. But I wanted to apologize. I was a real dick to you when we first met. You’ve only ever been good to me. I’m sorry.” Dean hopes Castiel understands he’s also sorry he didn’t say something sooner.

Castiel reaches out and takes Dean’s free hand. “Thank you Dean. I accept your apology. Please know that you’re always forgiven.”

Dean squirms. Castiel is sincere in a way that disarms Dean most days. He tries to deflect, “Thanks. You know most people usually tell me it’s fine. That I was just stressed or something.” Dean knows it’s a shit excuse. A lot of things he’s done in his life aren’t fine.

“Dean, please know that I enjoy your company immensely. I will always forgive your transgressions, as I hope you will forgive mine. However, it would be wrong of me to lie. You were a real dick.”

Dean bursts out laughing, beer snorting out his nose. It burns.

Cas just squeezes his hand and smiles.

* * *

It’s winter again. Dean’s been meaning to buy Cas an actual record player. Good ones aren’t cheap so he hustles more than he should. He gets a black-eye for his trouble. It’s nothing bad but it does sting. Dean doesn't want to go into the house kitchen right now. A guest might be up and Dean’s not too eager to explain his shiner.

He’s got a little fridge in his cabin. Dean hopes there’s something cold in there. He opens the door. Castiel is sitting on the bed. He looks pissed.

“Dean,” Castiel says, through gritted teeth, “This ends now. I will not stand for it.” It’s not a request.

Dean looks at Castiel. Sometimes he forgets just what Castiel is. He seems so human most days. But Dean knows better, he still remembers the day they met. He should just relent. All the same, stubborn pride boils up. Dad had told him that pride would be his downfall.

“We’ve talked about this. I ain’t taking your fucking money. You already give me too much.”

Castiel stands up and grabs Dean by the collar. Walks him back against the door. Dean doesn't resist.

“You are infuriating, you know that,” Castiel tells him, inches from his face. “I am an ancient cosmic being Dean, I have no use or care for money. I wouldn’t bother with it at all but living on Earth does require some compromises. I have plenty to share.”

Dean tries to look away but Castiel grips his chin. He’s not gonna win a staring contest with Cas.

“I just can’t, okay.” Dean says. He expects Castiel to argue. Point out Dean’s being stupid. Instead Castiel takes a few steps back, releasing Dean. He squints.

“Very well. Then marry me.”

“WHAT?!?” Dean almost chokes.

Castiel continues, voice perfectly even. “You refuse me because you feel you don’t deserve it. I cannot convince you otherwise. However, if we were married, you would not be taking from me but sharing. That is what married couples do, don’t they? Share their lives.”

Dean blinks. His mind went blank at some point. Castiel doesn't move. Just looks at Dean, waiting for a response.

“We can’t get married,” Dean finally says, possibly minutes later.

Cas isn’t moved. “Why not. It would seem the easier solution.”

“I could get a job. Or go hunting again. Or literally anything else,” Dean gasps out. Maybe losing his grace has affected Castiel’s judgment.

“Dean, you have a job. It’s here at the B&B. Do you really want to do anything else? Hunting doesn’t pay well. You’ve told me yourself. Marriage would just formalize our relationship. You can get access to my bank accounts. We’d have a better tax rate.”

Dean’s starting to see Castiel’s point. This isn’t good.

“Cas…marriage isn’t just a business transaction. It’s a partnership. And there’s sex.” Dean argues.

Cas raises his eyebrow. “Tell me Dean, what do you think we’ve been doing for the last year? The financial benefits would mostly be for your sake. Sex is hardly a requriement, atlthough I’d be happy to discuss physical intimacy with you.

Cas is right. He cannot be right.

“I’m a man,” Dean says. Surely it’s a solid counterpoint.

“Yes, I have noticed,” Cas replies.

Dean looks at Castiel. Apparently that’s not a concern. It isn’t for Dean either if he’s being honest with himself.

“Okay.”

* * *

Dean expects Sam to blow a gasket. Sam, however, is thrilled

“Dean, I’m so happy for you,” Sam says, over the phone.

“Umm, Cas thought it best for financial reasons. We aren't banging or anything,” Dean mutters, feeling the need to clarify that.

“Thanks, really needed to know about your sex life. When’s the big day? I’ll need to put in for time off at the firm.”

“We’re already married,” Dean tells Sam. “Just got it done at the courthouse.”

“Dude, really?” Sam sounds incredulous. “I don’t even get to make a speech. I’ve had one planned for a while.”

“What do you mean by that,” Dean demands to know.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. You’ve lived with the guy for over a year. You spend every day with him. You run a B&B together. I kinda just assumed something was up but you’re always so touchy about these things,” Sam says. Dean can almost hear the smirk.

“I am not touchy...” Dean begins, before stopping himself. Sam’s such an asshole.

Dean tells Castiel this over dinner, expecting some sympathy. Cas is his husband after all.

“How about spring. We could have a little reception here.” Cas says, not tracking.

Dean scoffs, “Cas, I’m trying to tell you how much of an asshole my brother is.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Your brother asked about a wedding. A time to celebrate our union with loved ones. I think a spring reception would be delightful. How about you?”

Dean considers. It is beautiful at Wing and a Prayer during the springtime. Cas’s gardens in full bloom.

“I want a pie. Not cake.”

* * *

Dean lies in their bed. They sleep together. Well, they don’t _sleep_ together. They’ve traded some messy hand jobs but Dean figures it’s fine. They are married.

Cas is awake, he doesn’t sleep all that much to begin with. Still, he lies in bed with Dean each night. A solid weight against his back, breath warm against Dean’s ear.

“Cas, can I ask you something,” Dean whispers.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean shifts a little. He sleeps much better these days than he has in years, “Why did you let me barge into your office? You could have dealt with me the minute I rolled into town.”

There’s a snort of laughter from behind him. “I was curious. You were hardly the first one sent to kill me. Usually I see fit to mind wipe my would-be attackers and send them on their way. But your soul shone so brilliantly. I had never seen one like it. I could feel your love, I could see the caring man underneath all the anger, the selfless nature of your very being. I wanted to see what you would do. I must confess I was also a bit offended that you thought the wallpaper tacky. I hoped to persuade you it was not.

What can Dean say to that.

“The wallpaper is tacky,” Dean tries, seeking to steady his voice.

“Don’t deflect, Dean,” Cas says gently. “You did ask.”

Castiel has always been like this with Dean. Just saying the sappiest shit imaginable and meaning every word of it. Of course, Dean wouldn’t allow anyone else to say such things to his face. He’d push them away first.

Dean hasn’t pushed Cas away. He doesn’t want to.

Well, that must mean only one thing. Dean turns around to look at Cas. Guy looks adorable in his floral pajamas and bed-head.

“I love you,” Dean says. It sounds right.

Castiel smiles at him. “I love you too” is said between kisses.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean thought angels unknowable, before Castiel came into his life. They seemed so otherworldly, beyond human comprehension. 

Dean decides he’s wrong. He understands angels perfectly. They’re complete dickbags. 

Dean is in the middle of reshingling one of the cabins. He’s spent no small amount of time hauling the damn things onto the roof. He’s not even off the ladder when an unseen force knocks him back. He lands on his ass, thankfully. Limbs still intact. He looks skyward. It is an angel, wings spread wide, knocking shingles every which way. Dickbag. 

This angel’s only got two wings. Some minor-league grunt most likely. Still, Dean doesn’t want to find out just how powerful a small-time angel is. Dean stands, mindful not to turn his back, accessing his options. 

Castiel’s probably making smalltalk with the guests in the living room, this time of day. The angel blade with him. Dean could call out but “Baby, there’s an angel of the Lord here to murder you” is gonna ruin the relaxed mood of the place.” That good Yelp rating doesn’t build itself. On the other hand, Dean might die and he doesn’t want Cas to be sad. 

So Dean yells. “CAS!”

Dean really hopes his husband still has that supernatural hearing. 

The feathery fucker lands in front of Dean, wings held out in a threat posture. He looks Dean over. Dean can see the contempt. Perhaps he considers Dean not even worth mocking before he rips him apart atom-by-atom. 

The angel should have been more careful. Dean lunges, tackling the angel to the ground. Dean scrambles to pull the angel blade from the guy’s coat sleeve. That’s where Cas always keeps his. Or at least, that’s where Cas summons it from. 

Dean really hopes this blade isn’t in some far off dimension.

The angel shakes off the surprise, grabs Dean by the neck, and throws him off. He stands over Dean, looking furious. Fuck. Dean barely has time to react before a loud thunk sound fills the air. 

Dean’s eyes dart up. The angel is staring at a blade embedded in the cabin wall. It sits above the angel’s right shoulder, a hair’s width from his neck. Somewhere in Dean’s mind he really hopes the blade hasn’t gone all the way through the wall. It’s gonna leave a mark

Castiel is beside Dean in an instant. He seems taller than he usually is. His wings, all six, are flared in challenge. 

“Leave,” Castiel barks. “I will not miss next time.” 

The angel looks between Castiel and the blade. Between Dean and Castiel. He flares his own wings out, seemingly to meet Castiel’s challenge. This scruffy douche’s wings are a dull, muddy brown. Castiel’s on the other hand, are a beautiful deep charcoal color. He just molted too so they look extra shiny. 

“Castiel, you made a mistake,” The angel says, well sings. 

Castiel flaps his wings. Once. Twice. Fans them out.

“Angels do not concern themselves with human affairs. What is my life to the angels anymore, devoid as I am of grace,” Castiel replies. “Is your life worth such things?”

The angel’s face doesn’t register Castiel's question but his feathers rustle. The two of them just stand there for what feels like hours. Wings spread, faces cold and remote. Dean figures this is some kind of angelic pissing contest. He’s vaguely reminded of those bird mating dances from the nature documentaries Cas insists on watching. 

Finally the angel lowers his wings, sings something in a language Dean doesn’t recognize, and flies away. 

“Dean,” Castiel kneels down, “Are you alright?” His eyes roam over Dean, looking for any sign of injury.

Dean grunts, and pushes himself off the ground. He checks. He’s fine. His pride is a little wounded but he’s got nothing worse than a few bruises. 

“I’m fine, Cas. What in the hell was that? I thought the angels didn’t like to get too close to your bad vibes,” Dean asks, wiping the dirt from his jacket. 

Cas goes to grab his blade, lodged firmly in the side of the cabin. “It would seem Heaven thought to finish me off before I truly fell. I suppose they took a calculated risk and hoped a mere footsoldier could kill me in my weakened state. They forget themselves. This will remind them.” 

Dean’s heart beats rapidly in his chest. He looks around. No one seems to have noticed that one of the innkeeps just grew a set of wings. 

“I do apologize Dean. I sensed you weren’t truly hurt. If you would have been harmed in any way, I would not have hesitated to kill the intruder. Becoming human has taught me restraint though,” Castiel says. He smooths back the hair stuck on Dean’s forehead and gently places a kiss on his temple. 

Dean wonders sometimes what Castiel would have been like in his full glory. A mighty seraph, leading armies in the name of Heaven. Dean’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have gotten along. Humanity suits Cas. 

Dean looks around, the shingles are everywhere. There’s a sizable hole in the cabin wall. This is gonna be a bitch to clean up. 

As Castiel pounds Dean into the mattress that night, Dean really does wonder if that little display earlier was some kind of mating ritual. 

Dean is on his hands and knees, Castiel’s hot breath against his ear. 

“Tell me Dean,” Castiel grunts out, snapping his hips for emphasis. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Cas,” Dean pants out. He’s impressed with himself that he can still form words.

Castiel continues to fuck him. 

“Yes Dean. You are mine.” 

* * *

Castiel is finished falling on an early spring morning. It’s barely passed dawn. Cas and Dean always rise early to eat their own breakfast before attending to their guests. Castiel rolls over and tells Dean he’s finally done. He’s human. He’s got a certified soul. 

“Really?” Dean asks, as he tries to find his pants in the low light of their bedroom. “I mean, you’ve still got your wings attached. I assumed you’d transform or something.”

Cas smiles. Dean had groomed his wings last night. They were soft and fluffed up for Dean. Cas told him that was angel speak for “I like _like_ you.”

“They are purely decorative at this point. Part of me will always be different. I am human in every way that matters,” Cas says, still lying in bed. He’s always slow to rise. 

Dean turns, pants now securely belted at his waist. “How do you feel?”

Castiel tilts his head. Considers the question. “Good. This is what I wanted for a long time.”

Dean shoves his head through the opening of his shirt, before grabbing his favorite blue and pink flannel. He gazes upon Cas. His husband. 

Dean wants to ask Cas if it was worth it. If Wing and a Prayer B&B and Dean somehow compare to the grandeur of Heaven. 

He thinks better of it. Dean once was so certain his life would end at the barrel of a gun or the edge of a blade. Now, he’s certain he’s gonna be arguing about wallpaper until he’s on his deathbed. He’s fallen himself in a way, into a life he didn’t expect, but wouldn’t give up for the world. 

“Come on, sunshine,” Dean says, throwing Cas’s pants at his head. “Breakfast isn’t gonna make itself.”


End file.
